Andra crushed that thought flat before it could blossom. She had no room in her life for false hope. She knew just how bleak things really were, and it was best if she stayed a realist, just like she’d always been.
“Don’t you dare touch her blood,” growled Paul in a tone that made the fine hairs on her neck stand up. “I’ll help the boy.”
“Are you sure?” asked Logan. “I took a lot from you tonight so I could find her.”
Paul’s eyes flicked to Andra so briefly she wasn’t sure it had happened. “It was worth it. I’m sure I’m strong enough for this.”
“And if you’re not?” asked Madoc.
Paul pressed his hand against his chest as if it hurt, then handed Madoc his sword. “Then you know what to do.”
Chapter 2
Paul carried Sammy outside into the night and found a patch of rich earth that would aid him in healing the boy.
Andra and Logan trailed behind him, while Madoc kept watch over the area, ensuring that they’d know if company arrived.
Paul wanted nothing more than to touch Andra and find out whether she was the woman he’d been looking for for decades. The only thing holding him back was her safety, as well as Sammy’s. He couldn’t do anything to mess up this time. This was his last chance. If he did touch her, and he went through that same incapacitating pain Drake had suffered with Helen, there was no way he’d be able to protect them if more Synestryn came.
And they would come; it was just a question of how long they had before it happened and whether or not they would still be here.
The sooner Sammy’s mind was cleaned, the faster Paul could get Logan to fix her arm. He knew she had to be in pain. All the color had leached from her face and she was holding herself at an odd angle. Already, the leather sleeve of her jacket was stretching tight over her broken arm.
“You’d better get out of that jacket before you can’t,” he told her. “The swelling’s getting worse.”
She gave it a gentle tug, winced, and asked, “Any of you boys have a knife?”
“Allow me,” said Logan. A sharp claw extended from the end of his finger, replacing his manicured fingernail.
Andra flinched at the sight, and hissed in pain as the motion jarred her broken bone. “Holy shit! What the hell are you?”
“Hold still. I won’t damage you.”
“You’d better not,” said Paul as he resisted the urge to go to her and reassure her. Keeping his distance was the most maddening form of torture possible. Moments ago, another leaf had fallen from his lifemark, leaving one, and he still wasn’t sure whether she was the woman who could save him.
He’d been given two chances before. Even wishing for a third seemed like some kind of sacrilege. Too bad it didn’t stop him from wishing anyway.
Andra stripped out of her destroyed leather jacket with a little help from Logan. Although her left arm was puffy and distorted, the rest of her was all sleek muscles and strong, feminine lines. Her clingy shirt showed off small, perfect breasts and muscular abs. He wondered how much time and effort a body like that had cost her and whether or not the man in her life was appropriately appreciative.
He certainly would be, given the chance.
Paul pulled his gaze away from her and focused on Sammy. The child’s eyes were open, unblinking. Drool leaked from one corner of his mouth and Paul gently wiped it away with the hem of his shirt. “I’m going to help you sleep now, Sammy. But I promise that you won’t have any bad dreams. I’m going to take them all away, okay?”
Paul didn’t expect an answer; the child was too far gone. He closed the boy’s eyes and held his hand there to keep them closed. He focused on the ground under him—warm, seemingly dead after long weeks of drought. He felt the soil and the rocks beneath, felt the roots of nearby trees seeking out nourishment and the tiny, hidden seeds that waited for rain to spark them to life. The earth beneath him was calm, patient, accepting of whatever came. There was power in that acceptance and Paul pulled some of that power into himself.
Instantly, the pain he lived with daily increased, bearing down on him, grinding at his bones, and he had to clench his teeth against it to keep from crying out. His heart pounded and his head throbbed until he was blind from the sheer force of the pressure of so much more power. His body already held too much energy, but it was energy he couldn’t use—only store for someone else’s use. Maybe Andra’s.
He prayed it was so. He wasn’t going to live long enough for another search. It had taken two weeks to find her, and he didn’t think he had even one week left.
Paul’s skin grew tight and burned, and his eyes felt like they would fly out of his head if he opened his eyelids. He could hear his breath rasping in and out too quickly as his lungs labored against the pain.
Logan was right. He was too weak for this, but it was too late now. He’d pulled in enough power to reach out to Sammy and enter his mind. He was trapped inside the child until he’d done what he’d come here to do—take away his fear, his memories.
The images inside Sammy were a chaotic swirl of teeth and claws, growls and screams. The boy was barely six, and had no way of making sense of what he’d seen. His child’s mind had taken the sensory input, mixed it with his terror, and created an array of images even more terrible than reality. Somewhere deep inside Sammy’s mind, he felt the little boy cowering in fear, whimpering, chanting, “No, no, no.”
Paul felt his physical body weaken against the strain of his connection with the boy. He wasn’t very good at this, but he knew enough to know that if he died while in the boy’s mind, it would kill Sammy as well.